


ain't this just like the present to be showing up like this

by blackwood (transjon)



Series: never dream of you again [5]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Catboys & Catgirls, Established Relationship, Gen, M/M, Mostly Fluff, Past Abuse, Secret Santa, past JonElias
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:28:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28198425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transjon/pseuds/blackwood
Summary: He thinks Martin must be looking at him. Martin always looks at him, but it’s different. With Martin it has been different.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: never dream of you again [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2027144
Comments: 13
Kudos: 150





	ain't this just like the present to be showing up like this

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GrangeLady](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrangeLady/gifts).



> title is from blood bank by bon iver
> 
> this is uh. proooooooobably ok as a stand alone, but itll make much more sense if you at least skim the first and third fic in the series. this is QUITE a time skip from the last fic - jon & martin are dating but theyve not been going out for very long. theres also some interpersonal issues between jon & sasha&tim that have been mostly solved in the timeskip. all this is just so this could be just uncomplicated (or, well, relatively speaking) fluff without the hard trauma parts haunting every aspect. 
> 
> im sorry my grasp on sasha is a little shaky she was in like 5 episodes ):
> 
> anyway!! uh. cws for,  
> past abuse  
> brief mention of tail docking / physical mutilation in a nightmare (makes sense in the context of the previous fics in the series)

It starts with the smell of pine. 

In the dream Elias is taller than the trees, and there is no reason for him to be able to see Jon, who is smaller than a pine needle, but he does anyway. Elias looks at him with those eyes, the size of fists, and then dinner plates, until he blocks out the entire dark winter sky. Jon, needle-small, cowers on the forest floor with his ears pulled back, his docked tail trying to curl around his legs. 

It’s always so dark and so cold in these dreams. The shape Elias takes changes and shifts and transforms, and so does his size. Jon’s size stays the same. He’s small. His feet won’t work. Someone has taken something from him. Sometimes in these dreams he tries to walk uphill but the ground is frozen and he keeps sliding backwards, and at the top of the hill stands Elias, laughing, monstrous and entirely made of eyes. 

In this dream Elias is a dark shape blending into the shapes and textures of the pine trees. In this dream Jon tries to let the wind float him away. In this dream the ground is frozen and he keeps getting stuck to it, and Elias, despite being so large and so far away, watches it happen and laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

In this dream –

The sunlight. In this dream the warmth of blankets. In this –

Dream?

“Jon?” Martin asks. 

Jon doesn’t open his eyes at first, because if he’s quiet and still and keeps his eyes closed Martin might think he’s still asleep, and if he doesn’t think Jon’s asleep he allows him to pretend to be. Martin likes to poke and prod but this is something he doesn’t try to wrestle out of him. 

So Jon keeps his eyes closed. Jon listens. His ears, traitorous as ever, flick as he listens for any sounds out of the ordinary. Martin sitting next to him breathing deeply. Not sleep deep, but calm deep. Traffic sounds from outside. A bird singing a territorial love song on one of the branches of the tree outside. 

“Hi,” he says finally. He opens his eyes slowly, carefully. The flat is warm and the light streaming in through the window is tinted yellow. “What time is it?”

Martin doesn’t ask if he had nightmares. Jon always has nightmares.

“Eight,” Martin says instead, which at first scares Jon so badly he almost jumps out of bed, but Martin’s all calm and nonchalant, so instead he takes a deep breath. Almost Christmas. Gracious enough to give them half days. No more goals to meet and whatnot. 

“Do you have the,” Jon fumbles with his words. His tongue feels sleep-heavy. “Presents? Wrapped?”

Martin gives him a mock-offended look that’s still a little unsure around the edges. Like he’s not sure how mock-offended he’s allowed to be. Like they’re not really familiar with each other enough yet to be allowed to do that, except it’s what Martin just does, and then feels insecure about. Jon doesn’t mind it, usually, because Martin softens it up. Martin doesn’t drag it on. Martin doesn’t fixate on it. 

“Of course I’ve wrapped the presents,” he says airily. “I promised, didn’t I? Both yours and mine.”

“Still not sure you were supposed to see mine,” Jon grumbles half-heartedly. 

Martin smiles at him. “Think that’d only matter if you were _my_ Secret Santa.”

Which is fair enough. Tim and Sasha have probably also shown each other their respective presents. Assuming that one of them isn’t the other’s, that is. Jon might be Tim’s Secret Santa but that doesn’t mean _Tim_ can’t be Sasha’s. 

Jon hums. “We should get ready.”

“You’re the one who slept in,” Martin protests. “I’ve been up for almost an hour!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jon grumbles, but he leans over quickly anyway, presses his dry lips to the skin of Martin’s warm hand. He holds the kiss for just a second, his unsure heart beating fast as a rabbit’s, and when he pulls away he can’t quite meet Martin’s eyes. 

He thinks Martin must be looking at him. Martin always looks at him, but it’s different. With Martin it has been different.

–

Martin carries both of their bags because Jon has the tray of drinks in his hands. 

“Coffee,” Martin calls from the threshold, voice like bells. “We got coffee.”

The words echo for just a second, and then Tim’s head is peeking out from behind the corner, and then Sasha’s heels are clicking against the linoleum. 

“For us?” Tim asks.

“Yes,” Jon confirms. He offers out his arms delicately. “Should have ah, names on them. Of the drinks, not the people.”

Tim carefully, strategically reaches forward and spins each coffee mug around. “Almond latte,” he reads out. “Is that for me or Sasha?”

“I don’t drink almond milk,” Sasha says. She smooths down the barely wrinkled front of her berry-red skirt and frowns. “Tim! You know that.”

“Right, right,” Tim agrees, “but do Martin and Jon know that?”

Martin scoffs. “Careful,” he tells him. “You’re forgetting you’re talking to the people offering you free coffee.”

Sasha moves quickly, hands spinning the cups around until she locates the one marked as _white mocha caramel macchiato_. “Ah,” she sighs, both hands folding over it protectively. “How I’ve missed you.”

“She already had one earlier,” Tim says conspiratorially. “On the way here. I saw the cup in the bin.”

Sasha makes a face. Tim makes one back at her.

“Take your almond latte,” Jon says. “I’m going to drop these soon.”

“Fine, fine,” Tim says, and grabs the cup. “Thanks, boss,” he says, and gives Jon a crooked smile. “Seriously. Best part of the morning so far.”

Sasha, still clutching her coffee in her hands, hums contentedly. Martin reaches for one of the remaining cups - fruit-infused white tea - and then he grabs Jon’s drink too, so that Jon can set the cardboard tray on the desk. 

“Here,” he says, and offers the cup to Jon. Jon accepts it, fingers folding around it quickly. It’s warm and heavy and smells good, and Jon brings it up to his face, right under his nose, and inhales deeply. 

Caramel. Vanilla. He’s not one for coffee, let alone the sugary stuff, usually, but he’d figured today he’d give it a try. Just for the sake of the holidays. “Want to try it?” he asks softly. 

Martin shakes his head, and then gestures vaguely, “I’ll get a headache.”

Jon makes an understanding sound and smiles. His tail curls and wriggles slowly. He takes a tentative sip, worried about the temperature, but the liquid has cooled down enough during their walk that it’s just comfortably warm. “Mm,” he says decisively. Hums. Takes another sip. “It’s good.”

“Good,” Martin says. His voice comes out a little breathy. It makes a pleasant shudder go through Jon’s body.

“Mm,” Jon agrees. 

Tim materializes to hover around them again. “Should we exchange gifts now? Or later?”

“Now is fine,” Jon says. “Where should we…?”

Tim beams. “Got a space cleared for us in the break room.”

–

The kitchenette has, in fact, been reorganized to be more fit for their purposes. The two beat up sofas have been moved to face each other with the condensation-and-tea stained coffee table slotted in the middle. 

Jon’s tail curls around his legs for a brief second and then swishes up, curls at the tip to form a gently swaying question mark. Martin brushes against his side, just a brief, warm presence that makes Jon’s cheeks heat up. His hand moves to give Jon’s back a lingering pat, and then he climbs over the arm of the sofa so that he can sit. Jon follows him, the two gifts clutched in his arms, and by the time he’s sitting comfortably on the couch Tim and Sasha have also settled on the other one. 

“So,” Jon starts. “Should we just…?”

“Let’s just put them all in the middle,” says Sasha. “You used the wrapping paper, right?”

Martin nods. “Just like instructed.”

Sasha grins. “Excellent! Let’s just, ah, let’s just dump them all on the table and shuffle them around, come on.”

Jon is more used to the kind of Secret Santa where you place the gift on your recipient’s desk, or maybe bag, completely out of sight, so when Sasha’d told them to stuff whatever they got into one of the gift boxes she’d gotten for this purpose and to use the wrapping paper she’d deemed sufficiently neutral Jon’d raised his brows. 

“This way we can open them all together,” she’d told him, and patted him on the top of his head. Which, guess that’s a compromise, because what _Tim_ had wanted to do was White Elephant, which Martin and Sasha had been less than enthusiastic about. Jon, without much of an opinion on either, had shrugged and when pushed finally settled on agreeing with Sasha and Martin. 

So: Martin and Jon both set their gifts down on the table, and Sasha, looking away from the pile of colorful boxes, shuffles them around until Tim’s going “enough, enough.”

Martin giggles nervously. “Who’s going to go first?”

“Shouldn’t we just all open ours at the same time?” asks Tim. 

“Well, I was just thinking – we shouldn’t have everyone reaching in at the same time – and besides, if we all open ours at the same time we can’t see each other’s reactions.”

“Smart,” Jon says. Martin wraps an arm around him and smiles smugly. 

“Okay, okay,” Tim agrees. “I volunteer to go first.”

Before he can, though, Sasha’s reaching over Tim’s hand and into the pile, having obviously already seen her name on one of the gifts. “Better luck next time,” she tells him, already tearing off the wrapping paper and then the lid of the box. 

“Oh,” she says, delighted. She pulls out a black leather-cover notebook with a beautiful, intricate pattern carved onto it, and then squints. “Was this actually within budget?”

“Complaining, are you?” Tim asks, but his hand is already hovering in the air over the pile of presents, trying to find his name. “I promise to be nothing but grateful.”

“Sure,” Martin says, all sarcasm. Tim makes a mock-offended face, and Martin laughs. 

Martin doesn’t wait for Tim to open his gift before he’s grabbing his own from the table, which only leaves Jon’s, and Jon, after hesitating for just a second, grabs it with trembling hands. 

It’s not particularly heavy. He rattles it lightly. It doesn’t make any sound. He can’t really smell anything either. He frowns. Strange. Martin, next to him, makes a little noise. “Ooh,” he says, “tea set.”

Jon looks. It’s a cute little tea strainer and a bag of loose tea that smells vaguely fruity. Peach, maybe. Something fancier than supermarket tea bags. 

“Little boring,” Sasha says. She’s got her legs slung over Tim’s lap, and she’s turning the notebook around in her hands. “So impersonal. Keep digging, Martin.”

Martin dutifully picks up the little box again, and picks out both the strainer and the tea bag. Underneath he finds a folded up piece of paper. “What’s this?” he asks.

“Open it,” says Sasha. Two of her fingers tap against the cover of the notebook. Martin does. 

“Oh,” he says, and then squints. “What? Wait, hang on a second, this is _definitely_ over budget,” Martin protests. He waves the piece of paper around with some level of aggression. Jon catches enough of a glimpse of it to read most of the words. He has to agree. A video game _and_ the tea set definitely would’ve pushed the total over the agreed limit.

Across from them Tim makes a loud noise of delight. Jon jumps, ears twitching, but Martin’s got a hand on his back, and when Tim says “oh, this is _good_ ” out loud Jon’s response is mostly pride. Some of the fear and startlement tries to linger. 

“Look,” he says. “It’s _exactly_ the shape of an avocado.”

“Sure is,” Sasha agrees. She’s not looking. Tim turns the tupperware container around in his hands a few times, fiddles with the release mechanism before setting it aside. 

Jon knows what else is in the box. Another avocado-shaped tupperware container. One shaped like a banana, and another shaped like an onion. Folded underneath those are two tea towels, both with a smoothie recipe on them, and a small sampler bag of the protein powder that only really comes in industrial size barrels that Tim’d moaned about wanting to try but hadn’t really wanted to commit to. Tim dumps it all on the couch. On the bottom there’s a small journal, and a fountain pen. 

“This,” Tim says, trying to sound sour rather than delighted, “is definitely over budget.”

It’s not, actually, but it did cut close. Jon’d been quite proud of staying within the limits, but then again, he hadn’t realized the others hadn’t been quite so strict about it. “Complaining?” he asks. Tim makes a face. 

And then it’s just Jon’s turn. The wrapping paper falls away easily enough, and then the lid of the box, and then for a second Jon’s not sure what he’s looking at.

“What is it?” Sasha asks. Jon picks up the piece of cardboard and turns it around. 

“Too big to fit in the box,” he reads out. “What is it?”

Martin, next to him, fidgets and shifts guiltily. “I think it might be in your office.”

Jon raises his eyebrows. “Might be?”

“I can’t be sure,” Martin says. “I’m just guessing!”

Jon rolls his eyes. “Should I go check?” he asks, already getting up. 

The anticipation is sending tingles down his neck. Martin follows him, a little skittish, a little foal-legged, and at the door to his office they both pause for a few moments. 

“Ready?” Jon asks. 

“What do you mean re– just go _in_ ,” Martin tells him, and Jon chuckles. 

It takes a few seconds for the lights to flicker on and stay on, but when they do and his eyes adjust properly his gaze settles on the neatly folded shape draped over the back of his desk chair. Jon knows what it is almost immediately.

“A weighted blanket?” he asks softly. 

“You said sleeping alone makes you feel lonely,” Martin says. He sounds insecure. A little nervous. “That – that sometimes you need it, but being alone also feels too – you said it felt too _light_?”

Jon doesn’t say anything. He takes a step forward to run his fingers along the soft surface of it. He picks it up for a second, puts it back down. Tests out its weight. 

Martin sleeps over a few nights of the week. The rest of the week he sleeps diagonally across the bed, luxuriating in the space he now has. In his dreams he’s both too light to stay still and too heavy to escape the things that are chasing him. When Martin sleeps over, Jon makes him sleep on top of him for the first part of the night, because that way he can at least know that someone else is there with him. Jon always has nightmares. When Martin sleeps over they’re not as bad.

“Thank you,” he says. It comes out a little choked up. “I love it.”

“Do you?” Martin hovers over to him anxiously. “Because if it’s not what you wanted I can get you something else. I just read – it’s helped _loads_ of people, apparently, and I figured it could be a good option to have –”

“Martin,” Jon interrupts him. “I love it.”

Martin’s voice goes soft and quiet. “Yeah?” 

Jon, one hand still grasping the end of the blanket in a loose hold, reaches out with the other hand. Martin slots their fingers together automatically. “Promise,” Jon says. 

Martin’s smile, light and heavy and small and big, makes his heart pound. Makes it stop. Makes it feel anchored. It smells like pine, and cinnamon, and brown sugar. 

Martin, looming over him, looks at him. He’s smiling. He’s allowed to look, because when he looks at Jon he _sees_. Martin’s eyes are honey and cinnamon. Martin looks without watching. 

“Thank you,” Jon says, and Martin, without hesitating, squeezes his hand in acknowledgment. “It’s perfect.”


End file.
